To the Victor
by prospectkiss
Summary: In a world where courtrooms have a unique tradition - the losing attorney is expected to pleasure the winner - Edgeworth must deal with his first loss. Mostly PWP and emotional tension. Trigger warning for mild dubious consent.


_**Author's Notes:**_ This was based on a prompt from the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme which requested the following, in sum: "In a universe in which everything else is the same in Ace Attorney, at the end of the trial, it is customary that the losing attorney is held down by the acting detective and performs oral sex on the winning attorney."

_**Trigger warning for mild**** dub-con**._ Though on whose end is debatable...

* * *

It was the first time Edgeworth had ever lost a trial.

Phoenix could see the rage in those grey eyes, the disbelief, and the quick flicker of uncertainty.

He turned toward his newly freed client. "Maya, why don't you go ahead with the bailiff and get started on your release paperwork. I'll meet you there soon." Something in his gaze must have told Maya this was going to be more serious than a simple post-trial conversation.

She looked between them, head tilting to the side as she considered; she could feel the tension in the tiny lobby. "All right," she said after a long moment, wondering if Nick would be okay on his own.

The door closed behind her. Only the three of them were left – the attorney, the fallen prosecutor, and the detective.

Edgeworth spoke first. "I'm sure you're aware of the... custom, Wright." The words were cold, gritted out between clenched teeth.

He swallowed. "You don't have to do this," he said, voice unsteady. "It's just a- just a _formality_. You–"

"Gumshoe!"

Edgeworth beckoned to the detective behind him, who had been standing a respectful distance away. The man stood beside the prosecutor, shoulders slumped and face wary.

"You will fulfill your role as witness, and indicate in the paperwork that all formalities have been performed." Edgeworth's voice rose on the last word, something like fear or nervousness betraying his expressionless face.

"Sir, I–"

"Just do it, detective!" That stoic face briefly broke out into anger, a hopeless terror as Edgeworth lashed out.

Phoenix took a step away, feeling the back of his knees brush against the cushioned lobby bench. "E-Edgeworth, really, I don't want–"

"Shut up." The words were sharp, precise. Edgeworth closed the distance between them in a few quick strides.

Whatever Phoenix's reply might have been came out as a strangled noise, a surprised gasp as Edgeworth's hands darted out and quickly, efficiently, _ruthlessly_ undid his belt. Without waiting, without warning, his pants and boxers were shoved down in a furious motion.

Edgeworth finally looked up, finally met his eyes – his own were wide with alarm – and for a second the prosecutor lingered. There was something there, a moment of vulnerability and desperate, broken pride. But as Phoenix felt his mouth drop open in shock, Edgeworth sneered, his expression one of righteous anger, of indignation and- and something _else_, something that didn't fit, something that wasn't so outraged.

Phoenix tried to step back again, but instead stumbled down onto the bench. Edgeworth followed him, kneeling and roughly shoving Phoenix's legs apart.

Gumshoe's heavy, reluctant footsteps approached, and distantly Phoenix remembered that it was usually the attorneys who lost, the attorneys whom the detectives had to force down and hold in place. So rarely did they have to do this with their own prosecutor. Gumshoe had _never_ had to be here with Edgeworth like this, on his knees and _performing_ – and he likely had no idea what to do.

Phoenix jerked his gaze up, his chest heaving in short panicked breaths, and shook his head.

_No. No, I didn't win for this. Don't make it worse. Don't hold him. __**Don't hold him.**_

Gumshoe halted and nodded slightly, a weird understanding passing between them, and retreated to the corner of the room, looking intently at the painting on the wall.

And further thoughts about the detective, about his win, about this screwed up and degrading and _stupid_ custom promptly flew out of his mind when he felt Edgeworth wrap his hand around the base of his cock.

Head whipping down so fast he almost made himself dizzy, Phoenix found the prosecutor glaring at him, angry and humiliated. And god, he hated himself for it, but something about that look, that position, he found unexpectedly hot. His cock twitched, the first startled spasm of arousal.

"Edgeworth..." His voice was strained.

Immediately the prosecutor brought up his other hand and grabbed onto his testicles, fingers digging tightly, sending a jolt of sensation – not quite good, not quite awful, just too much – directly to his nerves. With a desperate, wordless cry Phoenix threw his head back.

"I said shut up," Edgeworth repeated, voice low and spiteful.

Eyes squeezed shut, head still against the wall, Phoenix bit his lip hard and made no other sound.

A moment later Edgeworth's vice grip loosened, his fingers rolling his balls carefully, gently. The hand on his cock slid up and down lightly, feather-strokes. Phoenix could feel himself rapidly growing hard: the teasing movements, the rough treatment. The fact that it was _Edgeworth_ – the one he wanted to see again, had to find, had to help – touching him like _this_...

He couldn't stop the hum of pleasure that escaped his throat.

He chanced looking down again and found Edgeworth watching him, cold and calculating. There was no retaliation, no punishment for that inadvertent noise. It made Phoenix start thinking, wondering if there was something else happening.

Licking his lips, suddenly so dry, he tried to speak again. "You don't–"

The grip on his cock tightened painfully, his words ending in a helpless cry. He looked into Edgeworth's eyes again, silently begging him, pleading with him to just talk to him, that he didn't need to keep going with this idiotic _tradition_.

But instead Edgeworth narrowed his eyes, the grey only a sliver around dark pupils. He ducked his head and slowly brushed his lips and tongue along his testicles. It felt – god, rough and soft, and dangerous, and _hot_. Edgeworth's bangs tickled the sides of his inner thighs, and somehow that made everything feel more erotic, more sensitive.

A low, quiet moan rumbled in his chest.

Edgeworth slid his palms along his legs, slowly pushing them apart even more. Phoenix felt completely exposed, lewd and open and vulnerable; but it was all Edgeworth, there was only Edgeworth, and he found himself complying with each insistent push.

Edgeworth glanced up, eyes darkened and unfathomable – angry still? Or perhaps not? He moved his lips to the base of Phoenix's hardened cock, mouthing a kiss, soft and wet.

"Oh god," Phoenix gasped, the movement sending shivers down his spine. Edgeworth dragged his lips along his shaft, slow and wet. Phoenix gripped the bench, his knuckles turning white; he wanted to smooth his hands over Edgeworth's head, to brush his hair back and cup his face, to murmur how good he felt. But he kept as quiet as he could, with only little groans of pleasure betraying his feelings.

Edgeworth reached the head of his cock and spent a long moment swirling his tongue around, the wet heat of his mouth only a breath away. Slowly he licked down the length and back again, tongue leaving lingering rough swipes, and Phoenix was going to crazy if Edgeworth didn't– if he _did_–

And Edgeworth looked up again, still haughty and scornful; but there was that something _else_ there again, something _eager_, and Phoenix had only a brief moment to contemplate what that might mean, whether Edgeworth might really–

"F-Fuck," he moaned as Edgeworth finally dropped his gaze and lowered his mouth around the tip of Phoenix's cock. Close, wet heat, tongue brushing softly, sweeping around the underside in measured strokes. So, so good. He had to fight not to thrust his hips, not to move, not to grab Edgeworth's hair and pull him closer and push himself into that wonderful heat.

And Edgeworth, uncaring of his struggle, just slid his lips down further, taking more of him in, deeper. His head began bobbing back and forth, and he hollowed his cheeks, sucking lightly, torturous and good. He wrapped his hand around the remainder of Phoenix's cock, pumping in time with his movements, twisting just a little, just enough.

It was wonderful – it was _perfect_ – and Phoenix could already feel the tension in his abdomen, knew that he would be finished soon. He groaned, delighted and disappointed and feeling that this was so _wrong_ but that Edgeworth just _wouldn't stop_.

"I'm- I'm–" he tried to say, tried to warn. His hands flew to Edgeworth's head, stroking softly through the silver strands, running across early stubble, so light it didn't yet leave a shadow. Edgeworth's eyes flicked up, full of determination and pride and- and some sort of _desire_, another brief moment of vulnerability.

It was too much. Phoenix's eyes shut and his hands tensed and his breath stopped entirely as he felt his climax rush through him. He tried to move in time, to pull himself away before it happened, but Edgeworth stubbornly refused to let him move. He clenched his own hands down on Phoenix's thighs and kept his lips wrapped tight as Phoenix rode out his orgasm.

Phoenix breathed in heavily, taking sharp, painful gasps of air once he had finished. His hands fell away as he was finally released.

Edgeworth wiped at his lips and leaned back.

"Don't expect that to happen again, Wright."

His voice was taut, arrogant and disdainful, but there was another note in there, one that was uncertain and strained.

Without thinking, without even realizing he'd made the decision, Phoenix shifted forward and pulled on Edgeworth's shoulders and pressed their lips together in an awkward, bitter kiss.

Edgeworth finally pushed him back, eyes startled wide, and rose shakily to his feet. He looked over Phoenix, looked into his eyes for a long, burning moment, and finally turned away.

"We're done here."

He walked over to Gumshoe, whom Phoenix had forgotten was even in the room, and jerked his head. Neither looked back at him as they left the lobby.

Phoenix shuffled his clothes back in order and remained on the bench. _To the victors go the spoils._ He had never hated that courtroom tradition quite as much as he did now – only because Edgeworth had utterly spoiled him for anyone else.


End file.
